


Bloody, but Unbowed

by anita58straycat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Redemption, Canon Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Multi, POV Billy Hargrove, POV Steve Harrington, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Season/Series 02, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 14:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13525836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anita58straycat/pseuds/anita58straycat
Summary: In the aftermath of the fight against the Mind Flayer, the Party tries to regain a sense of normalcy. But it won't be long before things get messy again. They'll have to face new monsters and the bitter knowledge that not all of them are supernatural.Billy and Steve will strike an unlikely friendship in the combined effort of protecting the kids and figuring out how to become better adults than their parents.This is a story about redemption and growing up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Stranger Things fic, set after the events of season 2. The title is from Henley's Invictus.  
> I have the story already sketched out and bits and pieces written. I plan on posting a new chapter every 10 days or so, but you know how it is, real life's always looming and characters are in the habit of running away from their author and telling their own version of the story. I'll do my best to rein in this wild bunch, but I'm willing to see where they may lead me if left unchecked.  
> Hope you enjoy!

* * *

When Billy comes to, the first rays of dawn are just making their way through the trees and starting to paint the kitchen in soft hues of pink and orange.

He groans trying to sit up, his head killing him, worst than a hangover, but aside from his sounds of discomfort the rest of the house is completely silent. He must be alone, then. That begs the question of where the fuck has Max gone to, again? Her and her band of misfits and, oh, yeah, Steve _fucking_ Harrington, are nowhere in sight. He knows returning alone is not an option.

Stumbling to the sofa, Billy wonders what the hell is he gonna tell his dad in order to avoid being ripped a new one for having lost his sister (step-sister, he automatically corrects himself) twice in one night. But first, he needs to find her.

Just as soon as the room stops spinning.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds in order to clear his vision. He contemplates all the gruesome ways in which to kill Harrington when he gets his hands on him. How dare he lie to his face about the whereabouts of his 13 year old sister? Not that Billy had been particularly worried. He's well aware Max can take care of herself. But it's the principle of the thing.

Through the haze of his anger and whatever drug he's been injected with, he remembers beating the shit out of him and feels a tiny sliver of guilt mixed with shame taking residence in this stomach. Steve was only trying to protect the kids from a threat.

To be completely honest, Billy can't really blame him, especially not after what he did to Sinclair.

God, Billy can be such an asshole sometimes.

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, crouches down, elbows on his knees, and rocks back and forth a bit: he doesn't want to turn into his dad. Doesn't want to be cruel to children who don't fucking deserve it.

But he learned a long time ago that in this world it's eat or be eaten, and he knows it's not fair, but he's gonna survive with every means necessary until the day he can finally tell his father to screw himself and leave this shithole of a town without once looking in the rear view mirror. The thought of one day packing up his things and never coming back is what keeps him grounded in most situations, when he feels control slip from his fingers.

Except... he just gets so angry sometimes he can only see red, and when he comes back to himself it usually is to bloody knuckles and a sense of regained balance.

He doesn't know how to change, can't find a way to cope in a non violent way. Maybe he _is_ going to become his old man, after all. And the prospect scares the shit out of him.

He's so deep in thought, he only hears the roar of his Camaro when it's already in front of the house. And it's immediately followed by cheers and stomping feet as people make their way to the front porch and into the house.

Did the shitheads use his car to go... wherever the hell they went to in the middle of the night? Billy shudders to think the state his poor Camaro could be in at the moment.

The children run in one after the other in their overexcitement. The first one through the door is the Wheeler's kid, Sinclair and Max following suit.

They're filthy, covered in dirt and a strange black, gooey substance. Aside from the grime sticking to their faces and clothes they look unharmed though, and Billy lets out a relieved sigh.

After them comes the other kid, the one with the curly hair, looking forlorn, and mumbling about someone, or something, called Dart, but he's met with glares or eye rolls from the rest of his friends.

They still haven't noticed Billy in the living room, but they do when Steve at last comes in, shutting the door behind him, and Billy gasps softly.

He knew he had kicked his ass pretty badly, but... his face's a mess, all bruised and bloody. The kids have taken the liberty of putting rainbow band aids on his brow and cheek, and Billy would laugh if it didn't look like someone had tried to rearrange his features, that someone being Billy himself.

He stares, and Steve stares back, his expression unreadable, until Max breaks the silence and startles them both. They turn to look at her instead. "Looks like you're awake, asshole."

And that old anger begins to simmer again under the surface. He wouldn't even be here if it depended on him, but Neil loves his precious step daughter so much he can't stand the thought of anything happening to her. He doesn't love her enough to stay home and actually looking after her like a good parent would, mind you, preferring to leave the job to her brother, so that he can take the evening off and go screw her mother in some seedy fucking motel on the way to Indianapolis. _Pathetic_.

He wants to lash out, but he knows it's not Max the one he's really angry at, ultimately, and thinks: _you're not like Neil_ , and only closes his hands in fists, forces himself to ask calmly: "What the hell did you inject me with?"

Max shrugs. "Don't know. Don't care. I had to stop you. You were going to kill Steve, you idiot."

He gets up from the sofa before he can even notice he's done so. He sees Sinclair flinch back, while the other two kids take a step in front of him and Max, trying to protect them.

"Yeah, what the hell, man? Are you fucking psycho?" Curly asks. Harrington shoots him a warning look. "What? He is!" The kid insists, gesturing to Billy with his left arm, palm up.

"All the more reasons not to call him that when he's standing not ten feet from us!" Wheeler junior yells, throwing his hands in the air.

Sinclair and Max join the debate and things escalate pretty quickly from there, to the point they're all so loud, each one talking over the other, that Billy doesn't understand what they're saying anymore. Judging by the pained expression on Harrington's face, neither does he.

Billy's tired, so tired, he just wants to get into bed and sleep away the last remains of whatever drug he's still got running in his bloodstream.

"Let's go home, Maxine," he says, but nobody hears him, except for Steve, who turns to look at him, eyes narrowed. He fixes him for a moment, before presumably deciding that Billy is _not_ going to drive Max into the middle of the woods to murder her.

He turns his gaze away and goes to restore order among the kids. Good fucking luck with _that_.

"Hey, guys!" No one pays him any attention. "Guys!" He says again, raising his voice and snapping his fingers. Again, he's ignored. "Will you shitheads shut up, already?" He finally shouts, and that gets him four sets of eyes to focus on him.

"You're giving me an even bigger migraine than the one I already have. Now, Max, you go home with your brother. We'll wait for the others to come back, clean up this mess while we're here."

It looks like a new round of protests and discussions is going to take place.

Billy sighs, he's tempted to sit back on the sofa, maybe take a nap while the kids argue. He knows his step-sister, she's stubborn, she won't want to come.

And indeed, she sticks her chin out, squares her shoulders. Before she can reply, telling Harrington that Billy can fuck off, most likely, Steve puts a hand on her shoulder, tilts his head to the side.

The fight goes out of her in an instant and she, albeit reluctantly, turns to hug each of her friends in turn and says her goodbyes, all the while glaring daggers at Billy. She embraces Sinclair a little bit tighter and a little bit longer than the others, whispering things in his ear. When she's done, she strides outside, nose in the air, and Billy hears the side door of his car open and close with a bang.

He leaves as well, the kids glaring at him as if to say: _touch a hair on Max's head and you're dead_. He's tempted to tell them that those threats are unnecessary. He'll probably be done for the moment Neil sees the state his step daughter's in.

As he's walking past Steve, he locks eyes with him again. He has to fight the urge to tell him that even though he'd sometimes thought about punching his pretty face in, he didn't really mean to, but it sounds weak even to his own ears, so he just keeps on walking and closes the door behind himself with a soft click.

-*-

The drive home is spent in silence. Billy doesn't even switch on the radio, too preoccupied to become aware of the lack of music.

He parks in front of the house.

The lights are on in the kitchen and from the window Susan is looking out, waiting for her daughter to come home.

As soon as she sees them, she runs outside and envelopes Max in a fierce hug.

Billy looks at the reunion, mostly to postpone the moment he'll have to face his father, who's standing stock still in the doorway.

Susan is bombarding Max with questions.

"Where have you been?"

And: "what happened to you?"

And a slightly more panicked: "are you ok?"

Max just answers them flatly. "I was at a friend's house for a pyjama party. Don't worry, we had a babysitter looking after us the whole time."

Susan deflates a little, but still looks skeptical. "Well, she didn't do a very good job, did she? Look at the state of you!" She says, turning Max this way and that, taking in her dirty clothes. Max goes with it with minimum fuss, probably too tired to protest, and has the good grace of not correcting her mother in the assumption it was a she doing the babysitting. Neil wouldn't like the idea of his daughter surrounded by an all male group of friends, supervised by an older guy. "We played in the fort in her garden all night, that's why I'm dirty."

Susan clicks her tongue, but decides to let it go, when Max says: "I'm ok, I'm sorry I made you worry." Her mother just nods ahead, drinks it up like it's the most normal thing in the world. _What the fuck_?

He's already composing a list of insults in his brain to address the utter idiocy of the woman, when she lets Max go and rushes to hug Billy as well.

"Oh Billy, thank you for bringing her home. I was so worried. You're a good brother." She says, cupping his face in her palm. He searches her face and he thinks he catches a trace of guilt in her eyes, which are darting surreptitiously to the side, where Neil is. Is she trying to help him escape his father's wrath?

 "Come," she says, "I'll make the both of you a big breakfast." She takes his and Max's hands in hers and leads them to the house.

When they pass Neil, he looks Max up and down, no doubt taking in the state of her clothes, but doesn't comment, aside from a snide command of: "Leave a note next time you decide to go out."

He gestures to Susan to go ahead inside, then grabs Billy by the arm and gets into his personal space. "I hope for your sake this won't happen a second time." He hisses, tightening his grip before releasing Billy with a shove and walking inside as well.

Billy hangs on the threshold for a bit, trying to stop his hands from shaking and regain his composure. Perhaps he's out of danger. _For_ _now_.

He slowly makes his way to the kitchen table, sits down and eats his cereal with his father, Susan and Max, like they're the perfect fucking family.

He clears the table afterwards, and when Susan and Neil leave for work, he shuts himself in his room, listens to the sound of the shower in the bathroom, and falls into a blissful sleep.

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2. It's short, I know, but I'm still laying the groundwork.  
> Many thanks to my beta Dona for all her tips <3

* * *

 

When Steve gets home, after having dropped off Dustin and Lucas, he's well and truly exhausted.

He and the kids had tidied up best they could, and waited for the others to come back.

Steve had wanted to keep the children busy, Mike in particular, keep their minds from focusing too much on the events of the night before. He had the feeling that spending too much of their time contemplating just how close they'd all come to an untimely and gruesome death, and the fate of their friends, El and Will, would only mess with their little heads.

Or perhaps that was just Steve.

The children seemed terribly resilient. The blissful ignorance of youth, he guessed, although, truth be told, he wasn't much older than them, even if it looked that way sometimes. But no... Steve, and Nancy and Jonathan, were all still just kids, too young to face the monsters they had to fight, though maybe in order to battle against such things one was never old enough.

He's so lost inside his own head he almost misses the turn to his house. He parks the Beamer right in front of the steps leading to the entrance. No one else is home to complain because he didn't put it in the garage, so he doesn't really care that it's blocking the path.

He gets in and switches on all the lights, even as he climbs the stairs to the second floor where his bedroom and private bathroom is. He doesn't like leaving corners unlit, even if it's morning now, and the sun is slowly but surely making its way through the windows, banishing away the shadows.

He has taken the bat with him. The evidence of the fight of the night before and of last year is still etched on the wood and the nails... dried blood, turned almost black now. It serves as a reminder that there are things out there, the stuff of nightmares, that are nevertheless real, flesh and blood. They're monsters, sure, but they _can_ be killed. The thought gives Steve comfort, so much that the bat has sort of become his Linus's security blanket. It's proof he's not crazy for believing that Demogorgons and Mind Flayers and evil scientists that experiment on little girls exist (and how fucked up is it that the latter scare him more than the former?).

It is also, first and foremost, a damn cool weapon. So he's started taking it with him wherever he goes. He keeps it in the trunk of his BMW, and at home, he's found a place for it beside his bed. On the rare occasions his parents are home, the bat goes under it, but always within easy reach.

Steve is now dragging it across the floorboards, too weary to heave it up and onto his shoulder. He honestly couldn't care less that the nails are scraping the hardwood floor, leaving marks in it. The scratchy sound of it is grounding Steve, the empty house too silent otherwise.

The bed is calling for him, but he can't go to sleep, not yet.

He's _filthy_. He gets into the bathroom and starts peeling off his clothes: first the goggles and the kerchief he'd used as a mask to cover his mouth in the tunnels, then his t-shirt, his shoes, jeans, socks and briefs.

Every little movement causes pain to travel through his sore muscles. He can spot in the mirror a dark bruise spreading across his back from when he fell over and his face and skull are throbbing from Billy's fists. Did he really have to smash a dish on his head, the bastard?

Joyce'd insisted Hopper take a look at him before letting him climb into his car and drive home, afraid he had a concussion or something equally as bad, a fractured nose or cheekbone.

The Chief had told him nothing was broken, but that it'll hurt like a bitch nonetheless for a couple of days at the least, so he better go to the drugstore and buy himself some strong painkillers. The swelling'll go down, but he'll still look like he had a close encounter with the front of a truck for a while.

He forces himself to look at his reflection now: one of his eyes is almost swollen shut, the rest of his face looks like a Picasso, and it's all purple and yellow. The one good thing about this is that his parents won't be home until Christmas Eve, so he'll hopefully have time to heal.

He steps into the shower and lets the water rinse all the grime and dirt and sweat from his skin. He could just finish to wash himself there and go straight to bed, he's clean now, but he thinks: _fuck it_.

He steps outside and starts running a bath, pours his mother's expensive perfumed shower gels into the tub. Then he gets inside - it's pretty big, with water jets and everything - and stretches, lets the scalding water loose the strain in his muscles. After the more than a little stressful night he had, Steve just wants to relax.

The tension leaves him so abruptly that he doesn't even notice he's drifting into sleep. It's only a couple of hours later, when the water's gone cold, that he wakes up. Dries himself off in a fluffy bathrobe and collapses on his bed naked, not even bothering to put on his pyjamas.

He crawls under the covers, wraps himself in the blankets and is asleep again as soon as his head hits the pillow.

The very last image that flashes through his mind in the final instant before he surrenders to sleep, brought forth by the throbbing of his body laid on his soft mattress, is Billy. Billy above him, straddling his waist and hitting him.

Steve remembers what his face had looked like, even in those last moments when his vision swam.

Billy's eyes had been empty, devoid of any emotion except for a blinding rage. But Steve had thought, through the haze of his pain, that he could glimpse a yawning abyss of hurt and fear behind that fury. There was a darkness there that Steve inexplicably felt compelled to dispel.

His fingers twitch, reaching out, trying to soothe the sorrow, but before he can reflect further on what he has seen, or thought he saw, sleep finally claims him.

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you all for the kudos and kind comments :)  
> I have been, and will be, busy with work, so it'll probably take me a couple of weeks to post the next chapter (it's gonna be from Steve's POV). In the meantime, this chapter is twice as long as the previous 2 combined, so I hope its length will make up for an eventual delay in the posting schedule.  
> Enjoy!

* * *

Billy wakes up around noon.

He can't hear movement outside his bedroom door, so he just assumes that Max's still sleeping. He stretches, he's got a kink in his back from where his father slammed him against the shelves. It'll hurt for a week at least, judging from past experience. He grimaces, from pain, and from the memory of the previous night's events. He had slammed Sinclair against a cupboard as well, and the kid's not nearly as built as he is. His back'll be a bitch for far longer.

But he's not gonna dwell on that. It'll do nothing but fucking depress him, thinking about what a shitty person he is. His father would be proud, though. He showed one of those people his place.

God... Maxine is _such_ an idiot.

If Neil finds out she's seeing Lucas, he's gonna kill the kid. And her. And then he's gonna come for Billy and good fucking riddance.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and makes his way into the small kitchen to cook something. There's not much in the house, so he'll make do with spaghetti and sauce. He drags his feet a little, still groggy from the drug.

What did he do in a past life to deserve his annoying little sister? _Step-sister_ , he mentally corrects himself. If he'd been half the asshole he is in this one... well, he gets it.

Still, Maxine needs to grow the fuck up and learn that in the beautiful Hargrove-Mayfield household there are rules and they need to be followed, and staying out all night with a black kid without telling the parents breaks at least half of them. Billy's seen them, how sweet they look together, all in love and shit. Well, it won't last if they aren't careful.

Stupid Maxine.

He feels only a slight, resigned irritation when he finds himself unconsciously dropping too much pasta for a single person into the boiling water. He still sets the table for two, serves himself and leaves the rest of the pasta in the pot to keep it warm for when Max'll emerge from her bedroom. He eats in silence, chewing slowly.

His jaw hurts from Harrington's punch. Billy almost smiles, thinking back on their fight. Despite his beating the shit out of him, and damn, he actually could have killed him, had Maxine not taken him out of commission, Billy's got to admit that, before being blinded by his rage, he had enjoyed seeing the fire beyond Steve's eyes.

King Steve was still there somewhere, and Billy'll be damned if he isn't going to make him show himself again. He grins, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

He's gonna have some fun.

***

Billy gets back to his room and finally brings himself to assess the damage.

It could be worse. It _has_ been worse.

Especially when Neil'd been drunk. He had been so out of it, at times, he couldn't even stand or string two words together, his insults coming out slurred, movements jerky.

And then there were the other times, the "fun times", when he would be just drunk enough to decide in his fucked up brain soaked by cheap tequila that Billy had done something wrong and should be punished. It didn't matter then that he couldn't hit quite as hard as he usually did sober. He wasn't in control enough to stop himself, and so would go on until he got bored or passed out.

If there's one good thing about Susan coming to live with the Hargroves' men with her daughter, and eventually marrying Neil, is that the bastard has stopped drinking. Of course, he still has a beer while watching the game, and Billy's sure he doesn't disdain a shot or two while on the road, or a glass of wine when he takes his new wife on a night out in a fancy restaurant. But Billy hasn't seen him blind drunk for a while now.

He remembers a time when his father had been drunk, pissed because he had lost an important client, and thought it would make him feel better to wreak havoc on Billy's room.

Billy had to rebuild his bedside table from scratch, use the few spare notes he had hidden under a creaky floorboard to buy a new stereo, because fucked if he couldn't even drown his problems in music anymore. Of course, among the casualties had been a couple of his favourite albums. Neil must have known 'cause he'd gone for them first.

A frame with a picture of his mother had been thrown across the room, landing on the floor in a shattering of glass. Neil had stomped on it in his drunken rage and crushed it, crumpling it and tearing out a corner. Billy had wanted to cry, but he'd known it would only make Neil angrier, to see what a fucking pussy his son was. So he'd fought back the tears, until the moment his father had finally decided he'd had enough and gone to bed.

Billy had cried then, curling on the bed with his ruined photograph, trying to be quiet, not to make a noise.

He remembers thinking, fists clenching and nails digging in the soft meat of his palms, that his father was a _fucking piece of shit_.

He remembers thinking, silent tears making their way down his cheeks, that Neil was right, he was a fucking pussy.

It's taken him a long time to only believe the former.

But the shame is still there, lingering in the back of his head. Every time his father calls him a faggot it burns hot behind his eyelids, threatens to spill out and prove his father's fucked worldview right.

_Boys don't cry, didn't you know that, Billy?_

But his mom had let him cry, told him not to cage his emotions, get them out there, so he could deal with them and move on.

In Billy's messed up head the two had come together. And now the only thing Billy's able to let out is rage.

He shakes his head to rid it of this kind of thoughts that will get him nowhere and starts working on righting the mess in his room. A few things have fallen from the shelves and from his desk: his cologne is laying on the floor, broken, spilling on the carpet and filling his nostrils with its fragrance. He better mop it up before the perfume starts giving him an headache.

It's probably too late to try and remove the stain, but he'll give it a go nevertheless. He gets into the kitchen, opens the cabinet under the sink and picks up a bucket, soap and a sponge. He gets back to his room, gets down on his knees and starts scrubbing.

Back and forth, back and forth, rinse and repeat.

There's comfort in the motion, the same set of actions repeated over and over. Billy's not necessarily a tidy sort of person, though he's particular about certain things, like his album collection, or his books, and obviously, his Camaro, and he likes cleaning up. The exercise is mindless, allows him to just disconnect for a few minutes, or hours if need be, when his thoughts get all jumbled together and he can't think clearly, when everything's just _too much_.

He puts a little too much energy in the movement, so that his biceps begin to burn, but it's good.

It's good.

His mind isn't occupied by anything other than the need to scrub the carpet clean. He'll have to do the same for his car later.

An hour passes and he doesn't even notice, until he glances at the clock on the shelf that reads 15.37.

He gets up then, and throws the soapy water in the sink, rinses the bucket and puts it back in the cabinet. The sponge gets thrown in the bin, too frayed to be of any more use. When he turns, he notices the pasta has disappeared, so Max must have left her room sometime in the last hour and sneaked in the hallway past Billy's door to go search for food. At least he knows she's in the house now.

When he's finished rightening his knickknacks on the shelves, he redoes his bed, tucking the sheets under the mattress, folded in perfect military corners, and smoothing them on top. Once that's done as well, he gets outside and starts on his Camaro.

It's better than he feared, there's mud encrusted on the wheels and the doors, but he can't see any visible scratch or dent. He drags the hose from the garage and rounds the car, jet strong to remove the worst of it. He then grabs his car gloves and starts scrubbing.

Freezing water gets on his clothes and he shivers, muttering under his breath about the cold weather in the middle of fucking Indiana.

He spears a thought to his lovely California, with its golden beaches and its hot, hot summers, and its only slightly less hot winters. Last year around Halloween he still took swims in the ocean in the weekends. Most days there's not even the sun in this God forsaken place, and if there is, it's just a very pale imitation of the one he used to sunbathe under in Cali. He's gonna lose his tan, if this continues.

It'll be a while before he changes his wardrobe, though. It's a mixture of a lack of funds and a general sense of annoyance that makes him go out with his shirts unbuttoned till his navel even when it's 50 degrees outside.

Spite keeps him warm.

After he's done with the exterior, he checks inside, but apart from mud on the mats - seriously, where _the_ _hell_ did they go, on a fucking camping trip? - which he washes and hangs out to dry in the garage, everything's fine.

He hurries back inside, partly because the sun's gone down and he's really starting to lose feeling in this hands, and partly because he needs to shower and prepare dinner before Susan and Neil return from work.

He strips out of his soaked clothes and gets into the shower. He turns the water on as hot as it gets, until it's scalding and leaves his skin pruned and red. His bones stop aching, though, so he counts that as a win. He changes into a pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless hoody, nothing on his feet except a pair of woollen socks, the only concession he makes to the chilly weather - can't fucking walk or sleep with his toes turning blue from the cold.

He makes another pot of pasta and sauce, finds a pack of peas in the back of the freezer and throws that in a pan on the fire stove as well, for good measure. Sets the table for four and counts the minutes tick by until the inevitable return of his father.

Max decides to emerge from her bedroom, probably smelling the sauce slowly cooking. She puts her plate in the sink and starts rinsing. They don't have a dishwasher, so the job of washing up after every meal usually falls to Billy, in some rare cases Max. Not that Neil thinks men should work in the kitchen, that's a woman's place.

Yeah, he's _that_ kinda guy.

But he figures Billy gotta pull his own weight in the house, what with Susan working all day for him as well, so he should keep it clean and orderly. _Respect and responsibility_. He doesn't really mind the job as much as the fact that it's an imposition. He does it all the same, not to incur in his father's disappointment.

Billy hears the roar of an engine approaching and the noise of tires on gravel, looks up at the clock with a feeling of dread to see it's just past 7, so it's definitely Neil and not their neighbour, who usually comes home way after 8. The water is just beginning to boil, so Billy salts it and pours the pasta into the pot. He's setting the alarm, making himself look busy when his father opens the door, Susan following behind.

Neil doesn't bother with hellos, makes his way to his bedroom to drop his suitcase. Susan waves tentatively his way, receiving a quick nod in response - more than what he would have done any other day, but he's feeling charitable today, and if he's completely honest, more than a little afraid of not showing the proper level of politeness - before knocking on Maxine's door to call her to dinner.

They all file into the kitchen and sit at the table quietly. Dinner together is always a sad affair, none of them having anything to tell each other, really, but Billy can feel the tension right in his bones, and it's making the soft air at the back of his neck stand on end.

This is gonna be more awkward than usual.

***

By the time they're all in the kitchen the alarm goes off and he drains the pasta, adds the sauce and puts everything on the table where everyone can serve themselves.

On his left Max is munching, stuffing her cheeks like a chipmunk. In front of him Neil is eating at a more discreet pace, an expression of slight annoyance on his face at the sight of his step daughter practically inhaling the food. Susan, on his right side, puts a hand on his arm gently, as if not to spook him, and thanks him for the dinner.

"It's really good, Billy. And greens, as well. Max should eat more vegetables." She says, looking pointedly at Maxine, who just rolls her eyes heavenward, but takes a scoop nonetheless.

"Just doing his job. Aren't you, son?" Neil asks, except it's not really a question.

Billy's head whips around to stare at his father, he swallows, then nods.

"Still," Susan says, squeezing Billy's arm for a moment before releasing him, "he cooks very well. Better than me, at any rate. I'm hopeless in the kitchen."

Neil just grunts, probably commiserating a life where his wife doesn't know how to cook, but his faggot son does.

Oh, the fucking irony.

"I'll be away for a couple of days. Got to meet a few potential clients in Saint Louis."

Billy perks up a little.

"Oh," Susan says, "I didn't know you were leaving again so soon. When will you be back exactly, do you know?"

"Saturday evening, most likely."

Billy keeps his head down, trying to conceal the relief he's sure is showing on his face. Four days ain't a lot, not compared to his usual jobs, those that take a week at the least. But it's still better than nothing, especially after the shitshow of the previous night.

"I expect you both to behave." Neil adds, and although he addresses the order to both children, Billy can feel his gaze focused on him and him alone.

He doesn't want to meet it, but he forces himself to look up from his peas and answer with a: "Yes, sir."

His father fixes him some more, then nods and returns to his food, apparently satisfied. Billy sags a little against the back of his chair and catches Max watching him from the corner of his eye with an inscrutable expression. She's usually pretty open about what passes into her little head, but this time he just can't read her.

He turns back to his food and concentrates on carefully picking up one pea at a time. He knows he shouldn't play with food, but he's the one who cooked it, not Susan, so Neil won't get mad at him for not appreciating it.

He wishes for the others to finish eating as quickly as possible, so that they can all fuck off and leave him alone to clean up.

They do after another 5 minutes of inane chatter, Max retreating to her bedroom to do God knows what, and Susan and Neil sitting together on the sofa watching Jeopardy. The voices of the contestants drown out his thoughts. The sound is enough to keep his mind busy, and though he's not really paying attention he even gets the answers right when he actually listens. So there's that.

As soon as he's finished he goes to his bedroom, a quiet "goodnight" thrown in Neil and Susan's direction. The moment he sits on the bed exhaustion crawls into his body, but it's still pretty early and he needs to get his homework done if he wants to avoid getting a note, or worse, tomorrow at school. So he drags himself to his desk and opens his books.

He starts with calculus, 'cause that's always so much fun. It's not that he's not good at it, he usually manages a pretty solid B, it's just that he fucking _hates_ it.

He gets it done pretty quickly and moves on to history.

Now we're talking, he thinks.

They're studying the Russian revolution, but they'll start a group project in a couple of weeks, and he's looking forward to it. Mrs Jenkins's promised they could research pretty much any period or historical figure, and Billy's already got a few ideas. He only hopes he won't be partnered with a tool. He wants to do good. Not that being able to identify the key factors in the fall of the Roman empire, or knowing the political plotting that led to the Avignon Papacy, will ever serve any useful purpose in his life, but he enjoys the intrigues and the fights nonetheless.

It's almost 11 when he's done, so he figures he can go to bed now without feeling like an old man. He changes into his pyjamas and gets under the covers, tucks them up under his chin, only his nose sticking out and going cold.

He takes a moment to hurl a few more insults against the weather, and then he switches off his lamp and is immediately asleep.

***

Billy wakes up the next morning before his alarm goes off, but it's late enough that he doesn't try to go back to sleep and starts getting ready for school instead. He tiptoes to the bathroom and gets dressed, then goes into the kitchen and throws something together for breakfast, couple of scrambled eggs, a pot of coffee, toast and peanut butter.

Yeah... he'll have to go grocery shopping later.

Neil and Susan sit down at the table, already dressed for work, and finish quickly before leaving the house, with a last recommendation not to be late for school.

He approaches Max's room and knocks on the door.

No reply.

He knocks again, louder this time.

Still no reply.

She should be awake by now, it's almost 7.30. He decides to pry the door open slowly, take a peek inside.

And thank God he didn't open it all the way or the pencil case that gets thrown his way would have smacked him right in the face.

"What the fuck, Maxine?" He shouts, already losing his patience.

"Get the hell out of my room, you asshole!" She shouts right back, and goes to pick up a shoe and, yeah, he's closing the door now. He hears a thump and assumes the shoe has reached its target.

"You're a fucking maniac, you know that?" He yells, banging a fist against the door.

The reply comes muffled, as if she's muttering under her breath, but it's still discernible. "Takes one to know one."

His hand closes over the door handle, but he takes a deep breath and lets it go. "Breakfast's on the table. Be ready in 10 or you're walking." He tells her, before picking up his school bag and going into the garage to remove the car mats from the hanger where he'd left them to dry the night before. He's placing the last one under the passenger sit when he spots a flash of red from the corner of his eye.

"Finally," he thinks, but when he stands up he sees Max's already making her way down the road on her skateboard.

Jesus Christ, why does she have to be this difficult?

He calls after her, but she only gives him the finger over her shoulder, not even looking back. _Figures_.

Fine, be that way.

He gets in the car and starts the engine, reverses and slowly pulls up beside her, following at her pace. "Come on, Max, get in the fucking car."

She throws him a defying glance and skates faster, crossing the road in front of the Camaro and forcing Billy to hit the brakes to avoid hitting her.

"Jesus!! Are you insane?" His outburst is met with a stony silence, but she's scowling like mad, brow furrowed and mouth pinched in an angry line. "You can't go to school on skateboard, you'll be late, and it's freezing besides."

"Then I'll freeze!" She shouts, "better than being in a car with a psychopath."

She spins towards him, eyes turned to slits, but the concrete's uneven under her feet, so she falls on her ass pretty badly.

Billy stops the car, runs to her side and grabs her by the elbow to pick her up.

"Don't touch me!!" She yells, her voice pitched so high Billy flinches back. "Since when do you want to take me to school?" She asks, and then her grimace turns mean: "Are you afraid I'm gonna take out the bat again?"

She's got balls, Billy thinks, begrudgingly.

And he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, because no. It ain't the bat he's scared of. Not that he's looking forward to another close encounter with those nails, but when Max was standing over him, even through the haze the drugs had put him under, he'd thought her warning sounded a lot like one of his father's orders.

He scoffs, not dignifying that statement with an answer he can't give, and turns to retrieve the skateboard that's rolled a few meters down the road. When he picks it up he notices the black tape Max had used to repair it has been ripped in the fall. He strides back, broken pieces in hand to face a very pissed off kid.

"It's broken." He tells her, as if it wasn't self evident.

"And who broke it, uh?" Max barks.

And ok, he did that.

"Well, you can't go to school with this, now, can you?"

"Screw you!!" She bellows loudly, stomping her foot on the ground.

"Jesus Christ! Stop wailing like a fucking Banshee!" He yells back, covering his hears.

"I'm not screaming, you're SCREAMING!" She _screams_ , and, alright, birds have taken flight from a nearby tree, and the old lady living on the other side of the road has peaked her way from behind the curtains on her living room window, probably curious about the commotion.

"We're gonna scare the neighbours," Billy replies, at a more sedate tone.

"I DON'T CARE!"

Sighing, Billy steps around the hood of the car, ruined skateboard thrown into the backseat, and addresses Max over the roof of the Camaro, a hand on the handle of the driver's door. "Get in, Max. Come on."

She stands stock still for a few seconds more, wind blowing in her wild hair and gaze cast on the horizon, thunderous. She really does look like a Banshee. He sees the moment she comes to a decision, because her shoulders slump and she fixes him with a murderous glare.

"I fucking hate you." She hisses through her teeth, opens the door, gets in, and slams it shut.

Billy throws his head back, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Then gets behind the wheel and presses on the gas pedal, tires screeching.

He doesn't say anything and neither does Max, who's looking out the window, arms crossed and exuding an air of barely suppressed rage.

Sometimes Billy thinks, even if they're not siblings, they're really fucking _meant_ to be. Couple of hot headed, angry assholes. And ain't that a comforting thought?

He needs a fucking cigarette.

Or three.

***

Billy leaves Max on high school ground with her creepy friends: Sinclair, curly guy and Wheeler Jr. There's another little kid, but he can't see him very well. He's got a bowl cut like he's some fucking Vulcan. Could be Byer's brother.

He parks beside the Beamer, so Harrington must be here already. Billy doesn't really know if he wants to see him yet, or not.

The choice is taken from him, when he gets to school and he spots him being surrounded by some of the guys from the basketball team. There's Logan, Keith and... whatshisname, Danny? Dale? Something with a D. And, obviously, Tommy H, the _fucking_ moron, and his girlfriend Carol.

It's not that... well, Billy does hang out with them, but it's not like he's friends with them. They're fucking assholes. Billy's an asshole, too, he can see that. But at the same time, they're so close minded, and the stuff they're bullies about is so petty, it's not even funny. They're just rich, spoiled kids. Billy's seen Tommy's house. Mansion, more like it. He wants to look like someone who's had it rough, but Billy's seen the car he drives around town, and the clothes he wears. He's nothing more than a rich boy with too much money and time on his hands.

He overhears D-bag talking to Steve, insulting him mostly. "The fuck happened to you, Harrington?"

"Man, I knew you can't throw a punch to save your live, but dammit, who fucked you up like that? I wanna shake his hand," Tommy adds, one arm slung over Carol, who's cackling behind her hand.

Steve doesn't react. He just looks at them with a bored expression. But if Billy pays closer attention, he can see that Harrington's exhausted more than anything else.

He shrugs past them, Tommy shouting at his retreating back: "Come on, Harrington. Come on, tell us! We used to be such good friends!" The others sneaker.

Billy hightails it, before they can see him and tag him into their petty dispute.

It's not even that he thinks Harrington didn't deserve a punch in the teeth, because, honestly, if you were to go looking for your sister - _step sister_ \- and you were to find her in a stranger's house, that was absolutely fucking creepy, with an older guy who didn't want to tell you your kid sister was there... well, it begs the question of what the fuck exactly were they doing there? With some miraculous drug that knocked Billy off in three seconds flat and a bat full of nails, no less.

But Billy's not mad right now, he can think clearly at the moment, and he can see clearly as well that Harrington is messed up. He didn't really notice it the morning after, because he was still a little off, and the light was low, and the bruises were probably too new to make this fucking Picasso effect. But now there's not a spot on Steve's face that isn't cut or purple from the beating. And he's got a slight limp as well, which was not Billy's doing. So he wonders, again, what did they do after they left Billy in the house, passed out on the kitchen floor.

The point still stands though, because Billy does remember looking himself in the mirror, sporting these kind of bruises and is once again confronted with the fact that, no matter what, he seems to be heading down his father's path.

He averts his gaze, directs it to the ground and gets to class before the bell rings.

The day passes pretty quickly. He's got art and english and science, all of which he rather likes. And then he's got two hours in the carpenters lab.

He likes making stuff, because he's realised that he can create, not only destroy. There's beauty in destruction, yeah, he can and _does_ appreciate that, but he finds the ability of producing something pretty or useful from scratch deeply satisfying. The thought that his hands, usually curled into fists, can mould beautiful things from nothing comforts him.

He gets to spends lunch break alone, thankfully, because Tommy is nowhere to be found, and neither is Carol, so they're probably making out under the bleachers.

Wednesday is practice day, so after lunch break Billy goes to the gym. He's the first one there, so he changes and starts stretching, running around the field and throwing a couple of balls. After a while he sees Steve coming into the gym as well. He doesn't look happy to be there. Billy gets it: he's stolen the title of King from him.

Harrington doesn't seem to enjoy playing basket anymore, or maybe he prefers other sports now, like fucking baseball, _apparently_.

The coach appears after a few minutes when the only sounds in the gym are the noises of their sneakers hitting the floor. The others join in soon after, Andrew stumbling in late as usual.

They start doing the drills, and then, finally, playing. Harrington is on the opposing team. He's still limping slightly, but doing his best to cover it up.

Billy doesn't wanna make a spectacle out of it, there's people watching the practice, but he does want to talk to him. He approaches him, without anyone noticing: "So, Harrington, what exactly did you do last night to my step sister?"

"None of your business," Steve replies.

Billy is crowding him, and Harrington can't get away from him. "Well, it is, actually. What, are you a fucking pedo?"

Harrington's so stunned, eyes going all wide, that he lets Billy steal the ball from him. "What the fuck, man?" He yells after him.

Billy gets to press him again soon after.

Steve hisses into his ear: "I was just babysitting them, alright."

Billy snorts. "You were babysitting them. You're a _babysitter_ , Harrington. Is that what you're telling me?" He asks incredulously. This is honestly ludicrous. "You went from being King of Hawkins" - which is, granted, nowhere fucking town, but still - "to a fucking babysitter for a group of creepy, annoying little shits?"

Harrington manages to turn around, brows furrowed in a righteous expression. "I did, actually. And those little shits are far less annoying than _someone_ I know."

That gets a laugh out of Billy. "Oooh, Harrington, you hurt my feelings," he says, hand over his heart, pouting.

The coach calls time out and mixes the teams up, so that Billy is now playing with Steve and not against him, which is a fucking disgrace, Billy thinks.

But, actually, it's not, because he and Steve just _click_. They start passing the ball between them and Billy soon discovers that they just work, strangely. Maybe it's the competitiveness. They want to one up each other, so they're pushed to play better in the eyes of the other.

They manage to score twice the points they did in separate teams, which is astonishing. But, of course, Tommy can't leave well enough alone. He's losing, and if there's one thing Billy knows about him, is that he's a _sore_ loser.

He and the other team start poking fun at Harrington and crowding him, like Billy used to. Only when Billy did, well, it was almost playful, if he says so himself, which probably wasn't playful at all. Not from Steve's point of view, at least. Billy wanted a rise out of him, wanted to see the fire in his eyes, wanted to know who the King really was. Whilst Tommy just mocks him, to make himself look good in front of the others.

And so, he's shouting insults at him, and Harrington doesn't respond.

If that had happened before Monday night, Billy would have thought that Steve simply didn't have it in him to reply, didn't have the balls to take a stand in his own defence. But even though it didn't take Billy long to knock him out, Steve still had the guts to face him. And, to be fair, he did throw a couple of punches. They weren't very good, truth be told - there's always room for improvement - but Billy could see that Steve's a fighter. So, when he sees his blank expression now, he isn't led to believe that he's just passively taking whatever insult Tommy's coming up with. Billy thinks that Harrington's blankness is masking his growing annoyance, but he's too polite to turn around and tell Tommy to go screw himself.

Steve's a good boy.

To Billy's own mounting irritation, Steve gets constantly interrupted during the match by the freckled moron yelling after him. "Hey, Harrington, I heard your girlfriend cheated on you. I did warn you she was a slut."

And, alright, Steve's starting to get mad. The ball he tosses Billy's way is more powerful than he anticipates. He moves faster, throws more strongly. Billy comes nearer and tells him, quietly: "don't let it get to your head, man."

Steve just grunts, glancing at him bemusedly, as if he was expecting Billy to join the mocking, and not give him advice. Billy would be offended - he can be nice, when he wants to - if the expression wasn't so goddam cute.

Harrington's _such_ a pretty boy.

Steve sprints towards the basket, and... that's another two points for the team. Tommy takes to opportunity to shout again: "Touchy, aren't you? Guess I touched a sore spot." He smirks, and goes to shove him.

Steve takes a step back, and Billy thinks: come on, Harrington. I told you, _told you_ to plant your feet, man!

"Hey! Do you know who Wheeler cheated on you with?" Tommy tries again. There are cheerleaders and a couple of younger kids on the bleachers waiting with bated breath for the big reveal. As if they didn't already know, haven't been whispering about it in the corridors, stopped when Steve got too close. "Byers! That creepy pervert. How does it feel, Steve?"

He goes to shove him again, but this time... Oh yeah, Billy thinks, gleeful. There he is, the _King_.

And it isn't something overt. Steve doesn't move. He meets Tommy halfway, stands his ground and just shoulders him in the chest. And Tommy goes sprawling. It isn't even that huge a gesture, it's just that Steve listened to Billy's advice. And he's glad. Because Tommy's a fucking moron.

The coach whistles when Tommy stands up and gets into Steve's face: "Fuck is wrong with you, you piece of shit?" The coach breaks them apart and orders Tommy to hit the showers. He's not playing well, 'cause apparently he's too busy gossiping. Billy chuckles under his breath.

Logan gets off the bench and joins the other team, but by now the game's pretty much over: they've got an advantage of 27 points, and there's only 5 minutes left to practice.

***

When the coach dismisses them, the others immediately hit the showers, eager to go home, but Billy hangs back.

Steve tends not to shower with the team anymore, just waits for the guys to be done. Today, Billy decides to wait with him, just hovering near his locker, biding his time. When the others all leave, he takes off his shirt - he didn't play bare-chested as usual, because he doesn't want the others to ask him about the bruises on his back.

Tommy had already cornered him after science class and asked him what had happened to his split lip, and Billy'd told him what he always tells him: "Shoulda seen the other guy." And it's not always true, obviously, because, yes, Billy does get into fights pretty often, but for the most part he's just a good liar. Every time his dad hits him in places that are visible, he just tells people that he got in a bar fight or smashed someone's face in, and that he got to walk away from it with only a black eye or a split lip. The bruises on his back, though, are another story.

He catches Steve looking at him from the corner of his eye, curious. Billy had fallen on his back when Maxine injected him with that fucking horse tranq, so he doesn't really mind that Steve's seen. He doesn't cover himself quickly, in order to avoid raising further suspicion.

Steve turns towards his locker. He's still got his t-shirt on and it's soaked, clinging to him. Sweat is trickling down his spine, pooling in the small of his back.

Billy sneaks up to him, throws one arm over his shoulder, while the other slips around his waist.

Steve startles, probably didn't notice his approach. He struggles to free himself, but Billy tightens his grip, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. One hand's on Steve's breast, the other on his belly, gripping the soft material of his shirt. When Steve tenses, Billy feels it in his muscled chest. He brings him closer, bared torso flush against Steve's back. Billy's breath is hot against Steve's neck, his eyes are darting to the side of his face, red from exertion, and maybe something else.

Steve's hair is plastered to his forehead, and it's oddly satisfying to see him without his hair perfectly combed. His skin smells of sweat, but underneath it, there's a faint smell of grass and dirt, which begs the question of what exactly did he do before coming to school. Probably went into the woods or something equally as weird, with his equally as weird group of friends. It suits him, just as weirdly.

Billy likes it.

Steve struggles for a bit, hisses: "What the fuck are you doing?"

Billy grins, worrying his lip with his tongue. He whispers into his ear: "You did plant your feet, pretty boy."

Steve's eyes widen, making him look like a deer, suddenly caught in headlights. More like a doe, really, with his big brown eyes, ready to leap.

Billy remembers thinking it for the first time when he had knocked him to the ground and told him to do just that, to plant his fucking feet. Steve had looked up at him, all innocent and trusting, like he truly believed that Billy was gonna help him, and looked like fucking Bambi.

Such a _doll_ , with his huge brown eyes, all pretty and shit.

Billy's aware he's staring, Steve staring right back at him. He pats his hip, and then releases him.

Steve turns around to look at him some more, like he's grown a second head.

Billy smirks, then spins on his heels, slinging a towel over his shoulder. He gets into the showers and lets the warm water relax his muscles.

Steve doesn't follow him, and when Billy gets back to the locker's room, he's gone.

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only give you my sincerest apologies for the delay in posting. I know it's been months, but it's been quite the year and other things took precedence.  
> I would still think about this fic from time to time, though, and I've taken advantage of the winter break to get back to it.  
> I thought it might be nice to post a new chapter today to wish you all a happy new year :)

* * *

 

Steve is unsettled.

It's been a couple of weeks now, since the whole business with the... thing, the Mind Flayer, and the demodogs and also, Billy _fucking_ Hargrove. In Steve's head _fucking_ is part of the name, because he's an asshole and Steve can't stand him.

Well, that's not true, not entirely. But Hargrove's being acting all weird towards him. His usual douchbaggery's been reduced to a minimum. He's still a total dick, but he's being almost... nice, and that's what's so damn unsettling. Steve's just doing his best to avoid him and disregard the fact he even exists, for his own sanity if nothing else. Saving the world from monsters can apparently boost one's spirits so much it can almost make them forget about morons who won't leave them alone.

However, his face still hurts and is all purple and yellow. He's a sight to see, and all thanks to _him_. The Chief has told him it'll get worse before it gets better, but Jesus, he looks awful. Not that he has to look good for anyone, not anymore. But he'd like to catch his reflection in a mirror and not flinch at the bruises he finds there.

Dustin's being going on and on about it as well. Steve's grateful for having someone on his side, someone he can vent to, but Dustin's still a kid, and he doesn't always have time to listen to Steve moan. Nor should he. Steve ought to "man up", as his father would say, and start throwing real punches. How in the hell he can face off against demogorgons and demodogs and come out on top of it with barely a scrap, and then get hit in the teeth by some normal guy his age every other week without being able to defend himself?

"It is a mystery", Dustin proclaims sagely one afternoon -the dipshit- when they're parked in the Beamer outside the Arcade and they hear the roar of the Camaro zooming past them.

All in all, things seem to be back to normal. That's what's irking Steve the most, because everything looks the same except not really. Some things have changed, but the shift has been subtle, for all that it came about during a night filled with monsters and magic. First of all, he's not having nightmares. He doesn't want to cry victory before it's time, but it's been a while now and he's sleeping well. It didn't happen that first time. He kept dreaming about blood thirsty humanoids with petals for faces emerging from the ceilings. Being home alone hadn't seem so fun, then. And it had gone on for months. He thinks maybe having burnt out the demodogs has served as a sort of catalyst for a spiritual catharsis as well.

The reflection isn't all his. Jonathan, of all people, has been really helpful. They've chatted quite a bit, even though their first conversation after that night was, well, awkward would be putting it mildly...

***

They don't speak at all that morning. Everyone is eager to go home and rest and forget the events of the night, just for a little while, but they decide to reconvene in a couple of days to check up on each other in person.

So off to the Byers they all go.

The house is still in a state, but things aren't as bad, the Chief and Eleven have come by earlier to help with the tidying up. Both she and Will are still a little shaken and a lot tired, but they assure the party - they're all present except Maxine, who "can't leave the house, not yet. Neil's in a right fucking mood." Damn, that girl has a mouth on her - that they are going to be fine.

After dinner, the kids scramble to go hide themselves away in Will's bedroom to do God knows what, the Chief goes out to have a smoke on the front porch and Joyce stands up from the table collecting dishes to take to the kitchen to do the washing up.

Steve shoots up from his seat, hitting his leg on the edge of the table and almost knocking down a couple of glasses in his haste to help. Well, more like his flight instincts take over, because he _does.not.want_. to be left alone with either Jonathan, or Nancy, or _both_. He's not ready for that kind of scenario, not yet.

Apparently, he's not the only one to think so, because Jonathan stands up as well, eager to help his mom, but Nancy is quicker than the both of them, and in the blink of an eye she's piled a few dishes in her arms and is already in the kitchen's doorway. With a sweet, apologetic smile sent the boys' way, she follows a bemused Joyce, who's watched Steve and her son fumbling at the table with a raised eyebrow, into the other room.

Drawn to each other with a sense of shared doom, Steve and Jonathan lock eyes and reach the silent, but mutual understanding that they've been terribly, terribly betrayed.

With mechanical movements, muscles rigid with tension, Steve walks to the couch and sits there gingerly, soon joined by an equally tense Jonathan, hands clasped together in his lap and shoulders hunched. Steve finds himself staring at the black screen of the tv, wishing that someone, or some _thing_ , would come to his rescue. His gaze strays to the ceiling, where only the year before the Demogorgon had materialised itself. Steve's startled out of his reverie by a gentle laugh that comes from his left, where Jonathan's perched on the edge of the couch, as if ready to leap.

"Kinda wish some monster will save us from... this," he says, gesturing between himself and Steve with a hand.

"No, I wouldn't- I mean, it's not-"

But arguing is pointless, they both know this is awkward as hell and almost everything else would be better than staying here, ill-at-easy, in the presence of the other.

"Yeah, alright," Steve concedes with a snort, "I guess you're onto something." He sprawls on the couch, air leaving his lungs in a big sigh.

"Listen, Byers"

"I'm sorry I--"

They say in unison.

They turn to look at each other, expressions pained, and then Steve chuckles, puts on his best self-deprecating smile and starts again.

"Alright, I'm not gonna lie and say I'll be totally fine with you and Nancy being an item. But. This..." And he waves to the room at large, at a loss for words. How do you sum up your newfound emotional maturity born of a situation that could very well be the plot of a horror flick? Sad feelings over a breakup tend to take a backseat.

"Seems rather trivial, doesn't it?"

Steve gives Jonathan a non committal grunt; he's the one who's got the girl, after all. But honestly, Steve can't really be bothered anymore. It's the way things ended between the two of them that hurts him most, not the fact she chose Jonathan over him. And it _is_ a trivial matter, in the grand scheme of things.

"How do you cope?" He asks, before even knowing the words are gonna leave his mouth.

"I don't...?" The other boy scoffs, disparaging. "I don't think we'll be quite alright ever again, but it is something we have to live with, so we better find a way to."

And ain't that the whole damn point?

What do you do when something like that happens? It does feel like they've been in combat, but not one therapist would listen to their story and treat them as shell-shocked soldiers: their tall tales will just get them interned.

Movement on his left brings Steve out of his reverie. Jonathan is leaning back against the cushions, arms crossed over his chest.

"When Will was ill, I didn't know what to do, I thought I was going insane from worry. But I had mom and-", he hesitates, but Steve knows, nods for him to continue, "Nancy, and they helped me pull through."

Who have I got? Steve asks himself; who can help _me_ pull through? I'm not strong enough to do it on my own.

Jonathan must sense his discomfort, because he puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, looks him dead in the eyes, and Steve spends a couple of seconds reflecting on how much this guy, who never made eye contact and always hid behind his camera, has grown in the last few months.

"The kids never would have done it without you."

"Yes, they would have", is Steve's immediate reply, because, come on, those children are braver than most adults he knows and twice as smart.

"Don't sell yourself short, Harrington." Jonathan tells him, lips twitching. "I overheard them talking yesterday, they were gushing all over your heroic deeds in the tunnels."

Steve looks at him, wide-eyed, feels his cheeks burn.

"Dustin was even working on your character sheet for their next DnD campaign." Jonathan laughs out right, the bastard, and Steve buries his face in his hands, embarrassment making even the tips of his ears go red.

"Seriously though, you gotta let it go. It's done. You want closure? Go back to that field and yell at those bastards you set on fire to go screw themselves. They're ashes now, and they're not coming back."

Steve takes it all in, raises his gaze slowly to the ceiling. It's just concrete and peeling wallpaper, no other dimension, no monsters, no nothing. Yeah, _screw them_ , he thinks, and smiles a little at Jonathan.

"You're not so bad, Byers. Guess I know what she sees in you." What I didn't have. Maturity, self-assurance; even when he was shunned by their peers, Jonathan always knew who he was and what he wanted. Steve on the other hand is still figuring himself out.

"Steve..."

"No" Steve interrupts him, a little too forcefully maybe, but he's really not fishing for apologies, or worse, pity. "It's fine, really. I'll be fine." He won't, not for a while, but time heals all wounds and all that. It's gonna mend his bruises, and fix his heart as well. "Who could ever resist me, with this handsome face?" He says, gesturing grandiosely to himself as he stands up and twirls a little, showing off his shiners.

Jonathan smiles, though it's a little pained. Steve guesses his smile isn't quite right as well, but it will be. In time, it will.

When he turns he sees Nancy, leaning against the doorjamb, as if she'd been standing there in the shadows, not wanting to interrupt their moment, but witnessing it nevertheless. Her gaze is fond and it's directed at both of them, and Steve swells with a sudden joy. He thinks there's going to be a day, soon, when the two of them will be friends again. They have to talk, really talk, but for now this is enough.

He picks up his bomber jacket from the back of the chair and goes to find Dustin: he's exhausted and just wants to go home, but he's driven the kid here, he's got to take him back as well. He only hopes he won't put up too much of a fight.

Joyce meets him in the hallway and tells him she's going to make sure Dustin gets home alright. "Just go, dear, you look like you need some sleep."

He's so grateful he wants to kiss her, so he does, plants a big one on her cheek.

"Oh, you flirt!" She giggles, and sends him on his merry way to Will's bedroom.

He catches bits of conversation floating down the corridor. It looks like the kids are having a disagreement over a _weapon_? And it's escalating quickly.

" -ta be bigger, it needs to look badass!"

That's Mike talking, immediately followed by a more sedated voice: "Yeah, but I'm not sure about the design."

"The design is fine, Will. Maces are way cooler than a bat."

Wait, a bat?

Oh, no.

Steve knocks lightly on the door and doesn't wait for a reply before barging in. All chatter immediately stops and four sets of panicked eyes turn to stare at him, while Dustin scrambles hurriedly to collect some papers. They're sitting in a circles, legs crossed and crayons strewn all over the carpet in the middle.

"What are you guys up to?" He asks, in his most stern tone, trying to contain the laughter that's bubbling up at the sight of these nerds caught scheming against him.

"Nothing!" The boys reply hastily.

El looks at them sceptically and opens her mouth, presumably to rat them out - bless her heart - before Mike throws himself at her and puts a hand over her lips. The look of utter indignation on her little face is so funny that Steve looses it. He bursts out laughing, the bewildered looks on the kids' faces setting him off even more.

When he calms down a little and regains his composure, he points a finger at each of them in turn: "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, you little shits. I'm going home now, I'll see you at school tomorrow."

A chorus of protests rises; Dustin actually stands up and grabs him by the sleeve, and it warms Steve a little to know that they want him to stay. Maybe Jonathan was onto something. But he really is tired, so he says his goodbyes and leaves them to their plotting.

When he comes back to the front of the house, Joyce is waiting for him with a plate of the remains of the amazing casserole she cooked for dinner - thank God, because Steve's fridge is completely empty and he can't keep spending money on takeaway food.

As he leaves, he turns back and through the window he sees Jonathan and Nancy holding hands across the table. They make a pretty picture. She's obviously happier with Jonathan.

Steve misses her. It would be a lie to say otherwise. But he thinks that maybe by the end there he was confusing loving her with being in love with her. Mostly now he just feels terribly grateful for the things she taught him. She helped him become a better person and even though they aren't together anymore, he still gets to keep her close, and he's grateful for that as well. Though he can't help the bittersweet feeling that's finding his way in his guts. He's happy for her, for them, but at end of the day he's the one who goes home alone.

***

The following day he spots them in the corridors at school, they wave shyly at him, unsure of what to do, how to approach him. There's still a barrier between them, the scar scabbed over, but hitching still.

Steve keeps mostly to himself in the meantime, tries to avoid Tommy H and the others best he can.

At times he feels eyes on him and turns to catch who's staring, and there Billy is, looking at him like he's a scientist and Steve a curious specimen. But the other boy never says anything. Steve is still rattled by what happened in the locker room, but is quite at a loss as to what that odd behaviour meant, and not so sure he wants to question it.

It's only by the end of the first week that Nancy actually goes out of her way to talk to him. It was inevitable and Steve's kind of fine with the whole thing: better to just rip the band-aid off sooner rather than later.

He finds her standing at his locker on Friday morning. He feels a stab of nostalgia, seeing her there. They used to meet every morning before the ring of the bell that would signal the start of the school day. Just a few minutes spent together, chatting or, more likely, kissing. From the blush on her cheeks she must be remembering those days as well. He notices a strand of hair's come loose from her ponytail. His hand hitches to tuck it behind her ears - he loved playing with her hair - but it's not his place anymore.

Nancy gets immediately to the point: "can we talk, Steve?"

He nods, 'cause what else is he supposed to do?

"Alright, meet me outside at lunch break? Thanks." She squeezes gently his forearm and is gone before Steve can reply.

Classes pass in a blur, his already poor concentration is shot and he's reprimanded by the teachers more than his usual for being inattentive. When the bell finally rings signalling the start of lunch break, he shoots out of his seat and out of the classroom at the speed of light.

He's so distracted that he collides against someone and almost goes sprawling. It's just his luck that the brick wall in question is none other than Billy fucking Hargrove.

"You in a hurry, Princess? Careful not to lose your crystal shoe."

"What does that even mean?!" Steve asks, exasperated, and takes a step right. Billy, of course, takes a step left and blocks his path. "I don't have time for this shit." He really doesn't.

Hargrove puts a hand over his heart and pouts, though at least he gets out of his way, but not before making a scene of bowing before the King.

Steve gapes at him, this ridiculous man, and gets the hell out of there. He's already turned his back on Billy when he hears him shouting: "See you later at practice, Harrington!"

He walks faster.

***

He finds Nancy on the bleachers, looking out at the woods. She smiles when she sees him and offers him a sandwich.

"Oh, no, thank you," he says and produces a pack of crisps from his backpack. Nancy just raises a judgemental eyebrow at him and pushes the sandwich in his hand.

"I've made a couple more for you. I know you don't really eat when you're home alone."

Steve has to look away, then, swallowing against the lump that's formed in his throat. He really does love this girl.

"Thank you," he mumbles, already taking a bite. He hears a crunch and sees a lettuce leaf stick out from under the ham. Stares Nancy down with a look of betrayal.

"You have to eat greens, you know that."

"What are you, my mom?" He scowls, but can't stay serious for long and starts laughing.

Nancy flashes him a grin and then puts her head on his shoulder. He just barely avoids flinching away, caught off guard, but then eases into it, tension he didn't know he'd accumulated over the course of the morning finally leaving his body.

They eat for a while in silence, and incredibly it isn't uncomfortable.

When he's done devouring his third sandwich and licking the mess he's done with the mayonnaise from his fingers, he clears his throat and braces himself for what's to come.

"Steve, I need to apologise to you", Nancy begins, and already Steve is cringing, because no, he doesn't want her pity. He's not sure his pride can take it, and he doesn't want to ruin the illusion of normalcy they had put in place just a few seconds earlier.

"No, listen to me, Steve. I had my own problems and instead of talking it out with you, I pushed you away."

"You were right, though."

"No, I wasn't! I said some cruel things that I didn't really mean, and I hurt you."

Steve shrugs, because it did hurt him to hear her say that he was bullshit, but it hurt a lot more not to hear her say she loved him back.

"I wasn't in a right place myself, I believe. Like... I wanted to be with you because you told me what to do and how to be, but-- That's not how it should work." He looks at her, at a loss. His thoughts are all jumbled and he doesn't know how to express his feelings. He never was good with words - Nancy knows that better than anyone.

"No, it isn't," she murmurs, taking his hand in hers and squeezing.

"I think I'm getting there, though, Nance. I want to, at least. Be my own person, that is. But I still don't know if I can do it on my own." And it hurts being this honest, but he soldiers on, 'cause he's got nothing to lose at this point. "Will you help me?" Steve asks, because even if he doesn't wish for things to go back the way they were, he still wants to be friends with her.

Her eyes are bright when she looks up at him: "Of course, Steve. You'll always have me."

And Steve knows it's true. Maybe not in the way he'd imagined back then, but the change in their relationship can be for the better. They can support each other in ways that are platonic and still meaningful and important.

"Right back at you." He says and gently touches the soft flesh under her eye where her mascara's smudged a little. He thinks his cheeks could be a little wet as well, but it's alright. It's just the two of them and he knows Nancy's not gonna judge him for this slip in masculinity, quite the opposite.

She launches herself at him and her body fits in his arms like it used to, and Steve's glad some things are still the same. They stay like that for a while, hugging each other tightly, until they hear the distant sound of the bell. Steve gets to his feet, one hand reaching down to help Nancy up, and the other smoothing down his hair.

"Wanna skip?" She asks him, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and he's so shocked he gasps softly.

"Who are you and what have you done to Nancy Wheeler?"

She laughs and grips his hand. She doesn't pull away until they have to go their separate ways, Nancy to her music club, Steve to the gym for practice.

He's so damn happy he doesn't even care what Tommy and the others whisper, quite loudly, behind his back, and barely notices Billy's attempts to speak with him, only paying attention when the other boy corners him alone in the showers again and tells him he played quite well.

What the hell is up with him, anyway? First he beats the shit out of Steve, and now he's being all nice, complimenting him and giving him manly pats on the back after every point he scores for their team.

Nothing's gonna bring Steve down, though; he's in good spirits, so good fucking riddance to all those idiots who want to ruin his mood.

He gets home that evening after meeting the kids at the Arcade and sleeps soundly, bat at ready by his nightstand, but lighter than he's been in months. So, obviously, because good things can't last, the following week doesn't start off on the right foot.

***

He spends most of the weekend alternating between watching TV and sleeping on the couch, with an incursion by the Party on Saturday evening for pizza and a movie, the movie being Nightmare on Elm Street. _Why are they like this??_

By Monday morning he's mostly refreshed, his homework's all done for the first time in forever and his hair looks particularly nice.

Therefore the first thing that happens to him when he gets to school is an encounter with Tommy H and Logan. He's walking from the parking lot to the entrance, when his two former friends come up from behind and push him. He's carrying his books in the crook of his arms and they're now on the ground, covered in, thankfully mostly dry, mud.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

He can hear those idiots walk away cackling like hysterical hyenas. He's trying to pick his books up without getting dirt on his clothes, when a pale shadow passes over him and before he knows it a cascade of curly blond hair is in front of his eyes.

Billy Hargrove is crouching on the ground in front of him, cigarette dangling from his lips, slightly parted in a smirk. He starts collecting books, never once glancing away from Steve's face. His eyes have turned grey from the cloudy weather and Steve feels himself blush, because why the hell should he notice this asshole's eye colour and how it's changed from its usual blue? Jesus, Harrington, keep it together.

When Billy's finished he gets up and Steve follows, like a puppet attached to invisible strings. Hargrove puts the books in his arms, and Steve is barely aware of the motion; still fixed, inexplicably, on the other boy's face, he almost drops them again. He's waiting for a mean comment, a jab, _something_ , but Billy doesn't say a word, gently takes the cigarette between two fingers... and blows the smoke right in Steve's face. He barks when he sees Steve waving the smoke out of his eyes, and strides away still chuckling. _What.a.bastard_.

At least Jonathan and Nancy are waiting for him at his locker and help him get the mud off his poor books.

The week proceeds well enough from then.

The three of them have lunch together in the cafeteria, hear the whispers of the rest of the school, but in the end they don't give a shit about the gossip anymore - Jonathan never did in the first place - and strangely, it works.

There are days when Steve feels selfish and finds it difficult to spend time with them. It's not even that he's jealous of Byers, just... the idea of having someone, of sharing a connection. His parents are never home, he ditched his so-called friends, Tommy and Carol and the guys from his team, because they are all assholes - and he still cringes at the thought that he used to be no better than them. The only people he hangs out with these days are the Chief of police, his ex and her new boyfriend, and a bunch of middle schoolers. He loves them all to pieces, but he wouldn't mind having someone his own age to talk to and have a bit of fun with. Nancy and Jonathan have each other, and the kids, well, they're kids, even though they're crazy smart and a laugh to be around.

He just feels a little lonely sometimes, that's all. Especially at night, when he's done with school and the party and he's alone in a house that seems too big for three people, and definitely is for one person. His mother, during a phone call from wherever his parents are staying at the moment, tells him he should get himself a girlfriend.

"Such a handsome young man, I bet girls are only waiting for you to ask them out. You used to steal _so many_ hearts."

He only rolls his eyes heavenward at that and promptly changes the subject.

He shouldn't go out with someone just because he doesn't like being alone. King Steve may have changed girlfriends every couple of months, but that's not him anymore.

Besides... there's a new King girls are chasing after right now. And he's an even bigger asshole than Steve ever was. Billy _fucking_ Hargrove.

And isn't he the other fucking mystery?

 

* * *

 


End file.
